Halfway, baby!!
After our stay in South Lake Tahoe we were headed out for a big push. We’d have a few stops along the way, but we wouldn’t take a zero for the next couple weeks until we reached Burney, CA for the 4th of July.
We quickly fell back into our routine on the trail. It’s becoming much easier to leave town and start hiking again. The first couple days out of South Lake Tahoe we followed a section of the Tahoe Rim Trail which took us up high above the lake and afforded us periodic views of the beautiful blue water. We hiked across several ridges, and the views were out of this world. As far as our eyes could see were lush forests, mountain peaks, and blooming wildflowers. It was hard to imagine that within such a gorgeous setting, one of America’s darkest tragedies occurred. In 1846-1847, the Donner Party turned to canabalism to survive one of the Sierra’s harshest winters ever recorded. Their wagon train was made up of 87 people, bound to California to partake in the gold rush. These poor people went through absolute hell and back about 100 times before finally being rescued the following spring. In the end, only 48 members of the party survived, and they only survived by eating their dead friends and family.
Donner Pass - named after the Donner Party, of course - has a ski resort that keeps their bar and kitchen open all summer. It’s right off the trail, so it’s already a hot spot for hikers, but the even bigger draw is the free 40oz beer each thru-hiker is rewarded. Amy and I aren’t big beer drinkers, so Chris and Paul drank theirs plus ours, which made for an incredibly slow, slightly swervey two miles from the restaurant to our campsite. The campsite that night was one of my favorites on the trail so far. We were out on a ledge with beautiful views of the mountains and valleys we’d soon be hiking in, and the cherry on top was the gorgeous sunset.
The following day was just an average day on the trail - beautiful views, lots of elevation change, and a few patches of snow. We did a couple extra miles to set us up for a shorter hike into town the next day, so we were all feeling pretty spent by the time we got into camp. We groggily completed our nightly routine; we set up the tent and blew up our air mattresses, organized our food for the next day, ate family dinner with Amy and Paul, conducted our personal hygiene, and then finally crawled into our sleeping bags. Ahhh what a relief! Just then, the rudest and loudest group of hikers we’ve come across on the trail rolled into camp. They were hootin’ and hollerin’ for what seemed like forever. We hiked a fast 16 miles, pretty much all downhill, into Sierra City. We were greeted at the trailhead by Maddog - an older gent who is following his nephew who is thru-hiking the PCT. We’d seen them often prior to the Sierras, but hadn’t seen them for several hundred miles. Maddog, in his big red camper van, is always a welcome sight. He’s incredibly friendly, always a good conversationalist, and he occasionally provides trail magic. This day was one of those trail magic days. He and his nephew’s girlfriend who is also along for the journey, showered us with cold sodas, fresh fruit, and a number of snacks.
We began walking the one mile along a road into Sierra City. It was one of those roads that you might see in a car commercial - dense pine forests framed each side as the graded road wound down the mountain. We threw our thumbs out each time a vehicle passed, hoping to make that one mile happen a little quicker. A quarter mile or so into our road walk, we heard the same shrill hoots and hollers of the hikers from the night before. They’d gotten a hitch from the trailhead; they had their heads out the windows of the truck that picked them up, shouting loudly to let us know they’d gotten a hitch before us. They were joking, but we were pissed. Luckily, the driver lived by “the more the merrier” mantra, so he pulled over and let us pile into the bed of the pickup.
Sierra City, once a booming mining town, is now a small quaint town of only 84 people, nestled perfectly into the North Yuba River Canyon. It has precisely one motel, one bar, one general store, one post office, one gift shop, and two restaurants all on a single street. We did our chores and ate some lunch, and then waited in the motel’s saloon-style commons area until we were finally able to check in around 4:30pm. Check-in was supposedly 3pm, but the owner, who singlehandedly runs the motel, operates on a very leisurely schedule. Nonetheless, it was a lovely and peculiar stay. The motel has clearly been around since the town was established and still has a lot of the original fixtures.
By the time we settled in our room and showered, we were hungry again. We walked down the road with Amy and Paul to the fancier of the two restaurants, and the only one open at the time, where we hung out for the evening eating mediocre food and drinking a little too much wine. Back at the motel, we continued our wine binge and played a few rounds of pool down in the commons area. The owner came in after a while and offered to play us some tunes. He had an entire collection of instruments, free for guests to jam out with. He picked up a guitar and went to town, playing song after song. Few things make me happier than live music - it made up for the late check-in.
The next morning we ventured the other way down the street to the second restaurant. It was phenomenal. I ordered my usual - a breakfast burrito sans meat, add avocado, and a large stack of pancakes. Chris ordered his usual - the largest meal on the menu, times two. We stayed a little too long eating, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and dreading the massive climb we had waiting for us back on the trail. The walk back to the PCT was all uphill, so we tried hitching. No luck. We’d have to walk. I had a pity party for about 15 minutes before a construction worker pulled up and offered us a ride. At that point we only had about a quarter mile to go, but hey, we’d take it.
Here started the burn. Last year the Dixie Fire ripped through California, decimating nearly one million acres of forest, displacing countless wildlife and humans, and killing three firefighters. It was the largest wildfire ever recorded in California history, and the second largest in the United States. Approximately 110 miles of the PCT were burned, so for the next five days we’d walk through ashy ground, breath ashy air, climb over about a million blowdowns, and bear direct sunlight as all the trees were completely scorched. Luckily, we hit this stretch on a rather cool stent of weather.
Midway through the week we hiked into Belden Town. We had a package waiting for us at the RV park about 1.5 miles out of town. The RV park promises a ride to and from the town, a delicious cafe, and a general store. The promise of a ride to the RV park held true, but all the other promises fell through. We were able to retrieve our resupply package - thank goodness, because the resupply in town was bare bones - but no cafe, no general store, and definitely no ride back into town. We ended up having to walk along a highway with absolutely no shoulder that wound through the mountains. The majority of vehicles blowing past us were large semi trucks and construction vehicles on their way to repair the section of road a few miles ahead that was destroyed by a massive mudslide. We’ll admit, the walk back to town was sketchy, but it was our only option. Eventually we made it. Belden Town is another old mining town, almost completely abandoned. There’s a single bar in town, that doubles/triples/quadruples as a restaurant, hiker hostel, general store, and awesome hangout. We spent the rest of the day there, and it was glorious. As the sun began to set, we headed down the road to the river where we pitched our tent and racked out, in mental and physical preparation to climb the 12.5 milers uphill first thing in the morning.
The climb went on seemingly forever. But we eventually made it, and then did another 15 miles. It was our biggest day yet, and we were absolutely done for by the time we made it to camp. But we weren’t done yet. The cherry on top of whole day was the stupid steep, terribly treacherous journey to the stream to access water. After chores and dinner it was finally time to catch some zzzz’s. We were exhausted and couldn’t wait to get some rest, but the mule deer had other plans. The romped about outside our tent all freaking night. They were after our trekking poles; they love to lick the salt off the handles. And piss. They love piss, because it too is salty. We tested this theory the next morning. There was a mule deer foraging around not far off the trail. Chris had to “have a slash” so he turned off the trail and relieved himself. The deer lifted its head and stuck its nose in the air, sniff sniff sniffing away. It quickly realized where the sweet smell of piss was coming from and started up toward the trail while Chris was still midstream. Before he finished, the deer was at his feet sopping up his warm pee pee. The theory proved to be true - they really do love it.
The next few days we continued through the devastated wilderness. We finally saw a bear, which was a huge point of excitement and rejuvenation for the trail, and we walked through a section of Lassen National Park where we got to see several volcanoes, a geyser, and a boiling lake. But otherwise these few days were consumed by ash and blowdowns and direct sunlight.
We soon made it to Old Station - another teeny town with nothing but a well stocked gas station. To the average person a gas station is less than exciting, but to hungry hikers it’s a doggone paradise. We were kids in a candy store. We ate Hostess mini donuts and microwaveable breakfast burritos and drank gallons of fresh coffee - a lovely change from our typical breakfast of instant coffee and oats. Then we stopped by Subway Cave - a lava tube formed only 20,000 years ago following volcanic eruptions. We explored for a bit, but soon had to get back on the trail to knock out the remainder of our 27 mile day. We hiked along Hat Creek Rim the rest of the day. Hat Creek Rim looks south at Mount Lassen, north at Mount Shasta, and down at a beautiful valley bellow. It was fantastic. And the trail here was flat - finally! The only downfalls were the rattlesnake and bull. We hadn’t seen any rattlesnakes since the desert, so we’d forgotten to watch out for them. I was way too close for comfort by the time I noticed him sunbathing just a foot or two away from me. In true rattlesnake fashion he held his ground and refused to move. It took about ten rocks straight to the noggin to convince him to vacate. He gave a rattle and slowly slithered into the bushes. I was on high alert now, eyes fixed to the ground constantly scanning for snakes. A couple miles later I heard something big coming through the brush. I lifted my head to see a massive bull staring me dead in the eyes literally maybe ten feet away. He looked mean. I calmly apologized for hiking through his territory and politely urged him to move along. He began to walk away, so I said “thanks, buddy” and then he immediately whipped his big fat head around and stared me dead in the eyes again as if to say “don’t fuckin call me buddy”. I thought for sure he was going to charge me, so I inched behind the only cover available - some Manzanita bush. He began to walk away again right as Chris came up the trail, and, once again, he stopped dead in his tracks, stared Chris dead in the eyes, and looked like he was for sure about to charge. We made it out unscathed, but we’d have several more harrowing run-ins with cows before morning. We had to camp within their territory, and they made it crystal clear we weren’t welcome. A big ole heifer with her new calf refused to let us access the water cache. She wanted us dead. Then, just before midnight, we found ourselves surrounded. First there was just one. He stood right outside our tent wailing - a wail so loud and so absurd we weren’t even sure it was a cow at first. It sounded much more like a dying Sasquatch. The terrible sound must have been a call to rally. Soon the rest of the herd showed up. We got out of the tent and prepared to climb up the large pine we were camped under - we thought for sure we’d be trampled if we stayed in the tent. Eventually the cows dissipated. We crawled back into our tent, closed our eyes, and hoped to god we wouldn’t be woken by trampling hooves.
The next day we made it to Burney, CA. We got in early enough to complete all of our chores, which left the entire next day - the 4th of July - to hang out and properly celebrate. We ate and drank our way through the town, and spent the evening at a BBQ with a bunch of other hikers. In America’s honor, Amy attempted to shotgun a beer for the first time, and Paul successfully shotgunned a beer for the first time.
Amy: why would you poke another hole in the bottom when there’s already a proper hole in the top?
All the Americans: why not?
We‘ve passed the halfway point! Woohoo! We’re at mile 1411 and getting close to Oregon! Only a few hundred miles to go!
Keep humping!
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